


like they do it in the movies

by pallasjoanna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Chat Noir!Kuroo, Ladybug!Tsukishima, M/M, Miraculous Ladybug AU, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallasjoanna/pseuds/pallasjoanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Chat Noir,” he says.</p>
  <p>Chat blinks up at him. “Ladybug.” And then an entirely lucid smirk graces his face. “This isn’t how you do a Spiderman kiss.”</p>
  <p>Kei drops him.<br/></p>
</blockquote>Tsukishima Kei is this close to looking for a way to file a complaint against some higher being governing this whole universe because one, he is definitely not qualified to keep Tokyo from burning down on a regular basis; two, he really does not want to deal with how Kuroo Tetsurou makes him feel; and three, he does not need anyone finding out that he just happens to be a superhero.
            </blockquote>





	1. origin story spoiler: no one gets uncle ben'ed

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout and a huge thanks to my beta [violist-yamaguchi](http://violist-yamaguchi.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Basics for the Miraculous Ladybug setting: Tsukki is Ladybug, Kuroo is Chat Noir. The both of them don't know this. They fight against supervillainized people that are possessed by akumas due to their strong negative emotions. (Hawkmoth/Papillon is only mentioned in passing since dealing with him would be a separate plot entirely.)
> 
> Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading!

It’s debatable whether or not Tsukishima Kei happens to be a good person, but the fact remains that he does not deserve this kind of embarrassment. He transforms into the real-life equivalent of a magical girl to save Tokyo on a regular basis for crying out loud, so that should have been enough good karma to last him a lifetime.

Except that maybe Kei shouldn’t have listened to an idea that came from Kuroo in the first place.

To be fair, there are times when one should listen to Kuroo Tetsurou. When it comes to volleyball, for example. God knows Kei has a chat log of that spanning the better part of his high school years. Or when it comes to navigating the social intricacies of university.

The salesperson at the counter is making an admirable effort not to laugh at him as they pass a custom-printed T-shirt over. “Did we get your order right, sir?”

 _Unfortunately_ , he refrains from saying. One should never, ever listen to Kuroo when it comes to birthday gift ideas for his best friend. He pinches the fabric between his fingers as he unfolds it. The material is soft and breathable, but—he schools his expression into something less despairing and more _I will murder Kuroo Tetsurou before Akaashi murders me_ because that is looking to be the most likely outcome when Kei is going to show up at Bokuto’s birthday party bearing an ‘Akaashi’s Ball for Life’ T-shirt.

(“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Do you realize,” Kei says, not looking up from his textbook to where Kuroo is perched on the table beside him. He even considerately takes the side that isn’t blocking the light. “Coming from you, or Bokuto, or other people too numerous to list, that is the opposite of a convincing argument?”

Kuroo smirks. Kei isn’t even looking at him, but he knows Kuroo just has to be smirking. His head would be tilted just a bit to the right. There would be the slightest hint of teeth as the corner of his mouth lifted upwards. His eyes would crinkle in the way he gets when he’s having fun, not directed at assholes or for opponents on the other side of a volleyball net.

“Who wouldn’t want an article of clothing with their crush’s name on it?” Kuroo says. “I’m offering you gift ideas on a silver platter here, Tsukki.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“It’s a gesture of goodwill.”

“How magnanimous. And for the record, if it were me, I’d rather subject myself to Hinata’s cooking than wear a T-shirt with my crush’s name on it.”

“Oho?”

Kei quickly looks up at him. Kuroo is closer than he expects, already half-leaning over him, and Kei just about avoids a painful headbutt. “What?” he asks. “What’s with that—“

He narrows his eyes, mentally rehashes what he’s just said. Kuroo grins wider.

Kei makes sure that his sigh is as heavy, dragging and audible as possible. “…Hypothetically speaking, Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo hums. “ _Sure_.” But he doesn’t tease further, much to Kei’s relief. Not that there would be much to tease about anyway.

After a moment, Kuroo continues, “But that kind of T-shirt is totally different when it’s your boyfriend’s name now, hm?”

“It’s embarrassing no matter the context. And Akaashi isn’t Bokuto’s boyfriend,” Kei says slowly.

“Yet.”)

In his defense, Kuroo has that unholy effect of convincing people without letting them know they were just convinced until they were lining up at a shop looking down at the order form.

“It’s fine,” Kei says as he exchanges the T-shirt for the receipt. “Please gift-wrap it as well.” _So that I don’t have to look at even more people in the eye while holding this._ He may as well go to the volleyball clubhouse after, even if the party starts at seven and the only concepts pertaining to time that university students remotely respected were deadlines and exam dates. Maybe whoever’s there will appreciate him trying to help out. He’s not into the lugging-heavy-stuff kind of help though; his kind of help involves making sure that the playlist doesn’t solely consist of the Top 100 on the radio.

The salesperson gets that Kei is the furthest thing from a chatty customer and lets him sit. He starts checking for messages in his phone. “Sakura-san,” they say, presumably to their coworker who has a multitude of writing implements in her hair. “Do we still have wrapping paper?”

“Hm? Yeah, gimme a minute. Anyway, have you heard about Abe-kun from the second floor?”

“What happened now?”

“Another hissy parent apparently. Yelled at him in front of everyone just right before lunch break.”

Kei feels a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Oh, please no. He looks at the two poring over something on a phone screen.

Sakura-san sighs. “Poor Abe-kun, he always seems to get these types of customers lately.“

Kei really hopes this isn’t going to turn out the way he thinks it is going to. He stands, about to excuse himself to the bathroom—

“Oh wait, wrapping paper! I’ll go get it—“

That’s when Kei is violently knocked down onto the floor.

Or to be more accurate, it’s the effect of having a high center of gravity just when an earthquake rattles the entire mall. His chin catches on the seat on the way down, and fuck, his teeth had bitten down onto his lip and it hurts even more.

He can hear the screaming on the main floor. The tremor ends just as abruptly as it had started. It’s not so strange, Kei thinks as he picks himself and his pride from up the ground, seeing as it’s Japan. Pacific Ring of Fire, earthquakes, and this would be the part where they should start evacuating.

Except that there’s a feeling in his gut that this isn’t over and that this isn’t really an earthquake. That, and the fact that there’s a voice coming from his bag saying, “Tsukishima-kun! There’s something else causing the earthquake!” Definitely not tectonic plate movements then.

Only a few things to do.

First, he grabs the T-shirt from the counter on his way out—he’s already paid for it anyway sans wrapping job—and yells back for the two employees to find somewhere safe. The definition of somewhere safe is tremulous at best when Kei doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to deal with, but if he does his job correctly, everything should be alright in the end. How comforting.

Second, he runs against the flow of civilians going for the emergency exits to the nearest bathroom, already blessedly empty and conveniently located near a door that leads to the outside strip. He opens his bag and quickly folds the T-shirt before stuffing it in—sorry Bokuto—just as Tikki dashes out of the front pocket.

“Let’s hurry, Tsukishima-kun,” Tikki says.

“Got it.” Kei reaches for his ears, and there’s a swooping feeling in his stomach as if he’s nearly missed a step when he doesn’t find them bare. He’s taken to wearing the earrings everywhere now. They look as innocent as jewelry can be, but Kei is serious as a heart attack about the magical part.

He takes a deep breath. Well, time to save Tokyo. Again.

(It’s the third time this week.)

 

*

 

Kei was sleep-deprived and high on coffee on the day that he was told, _here, congratulations, go out and save the world! No return policies!_

He’s sure that Tikki had explained it more thoroughly than that, but he doubts that he was conscious for most of the explanation and was praying for the sweet release of death instead. He had just finished finals. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up sometime in the year 2084. Or maybe never.

The moment he had gone out of the examination hall, he’d been dragged by Hinata with Kageyama, Yamaguchi, and Yachi to the nearest café to complain about the exam. Kei didn’t even know what to complain about at that point. He had reviewed his answers to hell and back in that one hour they were given, so whatever. The same couldn’t be said for Hinata, who was the first to submit his paper to the proctor; the orange hair is distracting even in his periphery.

“…At number thirty, I went ‘wah! I’ve read this! I’ve definitely read this!’ but I couldn’t remember where, you know? So I just shaded E—that’s usually the answer, right?!—and went on to the next one—“

If Kei remembered correctly, E stood for ‘all of the above’ on that particular item. Kageyama was nodding as if Hinata had just handed down sage advice, which Kei supposed would be if their professor wasn’t—in the more senior students’ words—a veteran hardass. The type who managed to make True or False look like a minefield. That item was a trick question, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t muster the energy to deflate the oddball duo’s.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi said. “You haven’t touched your cake.”

Kei was lying facedown on the table at that moment. He grunted. _What about it?_

“Tsukki, it’s strawberry shortcake.”

Kei lifted his head just enough to squint at the plate beside him. So it was. “I’ll go back to my apartment in a few minutes.”

“Want me to come with?” Yamaguchi asked.

“I’ll manage not getting hit by a car.” And from the looks of it, Yamaguchi had been preoccupied with Yachi anyway, sitting just a bit apart from the rest of the group absorbed in a conversation. Kei would do them both a favor. He got the untouched slice of strawberry shortcake as take-out.

However, Kei’s short term goal of making it to his apartment safe and sound and in possession of cake was in danger as soon as he reached the pedestrian lane. He had nearly nodded off just as the pedestrian lights turned green. The old man in front of behind him even got to cross the street first. But Kei’s eyes were open when he saw some car with an asshole driver try to run the red lights.

Kei managed to dash forward and pull the old man back at the last second.

“Holy…” His heart beat a million a minute in his chest. He wanted to catch a glimpse of the license plate, but the car had already sped off. He gulped in air. “Are you alright?” he asked the old man, who looked unruffled from the fact that he nearly became a hit-and-run statistic.

“Hm.” The old man studied him for quite a while that Kei felt the urge to stand up straighter, like he did in front of his grandfather. “I am. You have my sincerest thanks, young man.” He gave Kei a slight nod before ambling across the lane with his walking stick.

That’s when Kei noticed the take out box of strawberry shortcake lying on the ground, already trampled by the other pedestrians crossing the street. It looked like a sad metaphor of his life at the time.

He hadn’t thought much about it as he fumbled with the keys to his apartment and fell right asleep on the sofa. He had other things to think about when he was woken up by Yamaguchi calling on his phone, “Tsukki! There’s a giant rock monster in Tokyo, please stay safe!” He was tempted to go back to sleep even then, giant rock monster or side effects of sleep deprivation or whatnot.

But when he put down his phone on the living room table, his hand brushed against a small red hexagonal box.

First of all, Kei did not remember seeing that box before he left in the morning, much less owning the said box. It was probably common sense somewhere not to open strange boxes you found in your apartment after going home, but Kei was sleep-deprived, high on coffee, and short on common sense as of that moment.

He opens the box, sees a pair of dark red earrings, and some sort of big red bug appears to him in a flash of light.

“Hello,” it starts.

In his defense, Kei just did what anyone would do. He swatted it with his couch cushion.

 

*

 

Kei does not blink twice when he sees that he’s up against a clown. He is aware that he uses this word for the tools on the university soccer team on a regular basis.

This time, he’s talking about the white face paint, generally terrifying-to-children sort casually walking down the road with a ballpeen hammer about the size of a bus. Ah, that explains the earthquake. There are still civilians struggling to get out of their vehicles, but the supervillain’s attention is focused on a lithe figure leaping in from above.

That side is wide open. It would have been a good move, Kei thinks, but—“Chat Noir!” he yells, running _away_ from the reach of the ballpeen hammer. “Watch out for—”

Lightning-quick, the supervillain manages to twirl the hammer and punt Chat Noir far up into the air. Probably with the same force applied to the pulverized cars on the street. Kei mentally winces as he flings his yoyo and catches Chat Noir’s limp form, the line pulling taut over a lamppost as he halts to a stop a few feet above the ground.

Chat Noir looks only a bit dazed when Kei runs up to him. Hooray for superpowers. Kei crouches at eye level with him, worried for all of five seconds.

“Chat Noir,” he says.

Chat blinks up at him. “Ladybug.” And then an entirely lucid smirk graces his face. “This isn’t how you do a Spiderman kiss.”

Kei drops him.

“Just pointing out a fact,” Chat says, still upside-down and propped against the lamppost.

“I didn’t need any Spiderman kisses to get you to fall for me, now did I?” Kei throws back. He’s pleased when Chat snorts before righting himself up. “Right, you’ve been here longer. What’s up with him?”

“What? No ‘hi, hello, how you’ve been Chat, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you, the love of my life—‘“

“We’ve seen each other three times this week, unfortunately—“

“—my sun and my stars—“

“In your dreams—“

“Then I’d tell you, ‘why hello, love, missed you too, now let’s go kick some ass!’”

(“Does the flirting bother you?” Chat asks. It’s been one week into their partnership, Kei notes. The night air is chilly from both the weather and maybe the lingering ice powers of the last supervillain, but Kei doubts the latter. Miraculous Ladybug is usually perfect in its post-battle cleanups.

They’re both standing on the edge of the roof deck, Chat about to leave via vaulting with his baton, Kei with his yoyo. Kei still has four dots left in his earring before he detransforms, enough time to justify to himself to give Chat a quick answer.

Now that he thinks about it, as much as Chat Noir has the capacity to irk him in one way or another, his flirting is just harmless. A handful of lines thrown into their usual banter, but Chat never quite pushes through with it anyway. Kei shrugs. There are worse things than to indulge in it while dressed like this, (and Chat is, well, in a cat costume. A leather cat costume, and Kei would have avoided him like the plague if it wasn’t his superhero thing.) and the domino mask helps hide any firsthand or secondhand embarrassment.

“It doesn’t,” Kei says. His earrings beep down to three. “It doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

For one terrifying second, he wonders if Chat is going to say otherwise, but no, his partner just laughs obnoxiously. “Nah, wouldn’t want your highness to fall for a street cat, now do we?” He laughs even harder when Kei flips him the bird before he leaves.)

“And I’ll actually appreciate getting down to business sometime right now.”

Chat twirls his baton. “Kinky. But anyway,” he holds his hands up to placate as Kei makes a show of rolling his eyes. “I think the employee ID is where the akuma is hiding. See that?” He points at the villain, going farther off from them by the minute. Kei doesn’t quite have Chat’s enhanced eyesight, but he nods anyway. “It’s the only thing that doesn’t fit his murderous Ronald McDonald aesthetic.”

Kei thinks back to the conversation back in the print shop. If Abe-kun is a store employee, it makes sense. Then again, there are probably many other righteously pissed retail employees on the verge of being akumatized, but it’s as good a lead as any. “Right. If you would do the honor of getting rid of his hammer, I’ll back you up with Lucky Charm.”

Chat Noir grins. “Say no more.”

And in a way, nothing really needs to be said. It’s like a volleyball match, the heady rush of a long rally, and the way that a team of six finally just _clicks_. But instead of six, it’s just the two of them, Ladybug and Chat Noir rushing up to meet threats Kei has only thought existed in mangas and movies before.

Char Noir’s claws radiate malevolent energy as he activates Cataclysm, but the real challenge will be to make sure that he actually hits the hammer. Kei throws his yoyo in the air for Lucky Charm, crossing his fingers for a helpful item, anything that’s a helpful item and not—

The light fades. What counts as a helpful item for his fickle power is apparently, a polka-dotted pingpong ball.

“I hate you so much,” he says to the inanimate object in his hand.

_Oh what the hell._

He runs up to the supervillain, dodging another swing as he lobs the pingpong ball at a lamppost. It ricochets with a ping! to a shop sign, then the dented fender of a car, and then—

“Hey, watch it!” Chat Noir yells as he just avoids getting hit by a speeding pingpong ball while making sure he doesn’t touch anything with his right hand, but that’s fine, good even, because that means—

The ball nails the supervillain right in the eye. His swing misses Chat Noir entirely, and Chat leaps in to claw at the hammer, disintegrating it into dust, and the loss of the hammer means that the momentum pitches him forward and makes him lose his balance. Kei swipes the employee ID from the front of the clown costume—it does read ‘Abe’—and breaks it underfoot with vindictive force.

A black butterfly, the akuma, a magical manifestation of negative emotions and one of the reasons why Kei’s life is harder than it should be, emerges from the broken pieces of the ID. “Come on, you troublesome piece of—“ Kei mutters under his breath as he catches it in his yoyo. It’s already turned white when he releases it.

Now, there’s just the rest of the city to think about. When Kei tosses the polka-dotted pingpong ball in the air, it bursts into a multitude of glowing red ladybugs. The warm light of Miraculous Ladybug sweeps through the area. Cracks in the road fill themselves up, the cars return to whatever state they were before, and if any civilian happens to be injured, he hopes they’re healed up from this as well. A groaning employee sprawls where the clown once stood in the middle of the wrecked road.

Another battle, and Kei hasn’t managed to make Tokyo implode yet. He releases a shaky breath.

He’s startled out of his short reverie by a warm weight on his shoulder. “Good work,” Chat says, as customary yet sincere as the fist he holds out for Kei to bump. Kei does. “You know I’d love to stay and _chat_ —

Kei groans.

“—but I’ve got places to go. Where people actually appreciate my sense of humor.”

“What a coincidence. I was going somewhere where people actually have a proper sense of humor.” Wait. The party. Bokuto’s birthday party. Most of the people involved there have a sense of humor Kei can only appreciate if he’s in a room away from them. With his headphones.

It’s not like Chat Noir knows. His hand twitches for his yoyo when both his earrings and Chat Noir’s ring beep.

Four minutes.

Chat opens his mouth. Then closes it, deciding against whatever he was about to say. Then with a smirk and a wave, he says, “Don’t take too long to show up again, Buggy-san.”

 

*

 

Kei decides to stop by his apartment first after all.

In the five minutes that it takes for his transformation to wear off, Kei manages to land on the roof deck and make it to an empty emergency stairwell just as his earrings beep down to zero. It’s not that easy a feat when it’s a fairly busy building. He’s passed people with only seconds remaining on his Miraculous before, and he sprints like hell in the other direction before they can follow him.

Nobody ever needs to associate the polka-dotted spandex and domino mask with the hassled university student who’s going to appear several moments later.

He’s hardly new to the hoops he has to go through to keep his secret identity under wraps, but that’s the thing with hoops. It involves a lot of jumping—however this metaphor is supposed to go. Whatever. He’s entertained the idea of telling Yamaguchi once, or even Akiteru, but his efforts in that area amounted to this:

“Have you ever wondered who are Ladybug and Chat Noir without the masks?”

“Maybe? I’m fine with not knowing. The both of them help people and save Tokyo, and that’s what matters to me. And the mystery kinda makes them even cooler. What do you think, Tsukki?”

“…Not really, no.”

“Huh?”

“I was just asking since—well, wouldn’t it be embarrassing to see yourself in spandex in the biggest billboard in Tokyo?”

(And of course, _that_ completely sailed over Yamaguchi’s head.)

“You did well today, Tsukishima-kun!” Tikki chirps once they’re finally in the silence of his apartment. “You and Chat Noir were able to deal with the situation quickly this time. It’s a lot of improvement from when the both of you started out.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Kei says dryly. “I haven’t tripped over my yoyo for a few weeks now.”

“But I do mean it.” Tikki has that tone on, the one that says _I’m five thousand years old_.

(“You really saw the pyramids? Being built?” Kei asks, not bothering to hide the awe in his voice _because_.

“Yes! Although Tsukishima-kun, that has to be a story for another time—you really need to transform right now.”)

It’s not even condescending, never with Tikki; it gives a rather factual weight to her words that makes Kei rub the back of his neck. She lands on the kitchen counter and puts her tiny hands together, looking at him expectantly. “Hm. Don’t you have to be at the party right now?”

Kei snorts. Tikki needs to recharge anyway. It would just be his luck for an akuma to manifest in the middle of night while he is surrounded by drunks and lamenting his life choices. He unlatches the cookie jar for her before he plops down onto the sofa.

“I’m thinking… I can always throw this—“ Kei pulls the shirt out of his bag. “—at Bokuto-san’s face during afternoon practice.”

“Tsukishima-kun.”

Great, now he has to wrap this himself, if he wants to delay Akaashi murdering him in cold blood.

“College parties are overrated, come to think of it,” he continues. Although his only experience was his first year acquaintance party. The only improvement that alcohol would have brought would be short-term memory loss. “I’m only joking, Tikki-san. I’ll stay for an hour or two at the party.” He gets down on his knees to look for wrapping paper under the living room table.

“You should spend more time with your friends,” Tikki says around a mouthful of cookie. “And as for Kuroo-san—“

Kei clips his head on the wood. He refrains from cursing. The part where he bit his bottom lip still stings. “What does Kuroo have to do with anything?”

“I just wanted to thank him for these!” Tikki chomps down on another at record speed as Kei places wrapping paper, scissors, and tape down on the kitchen table. “Hm. These are really good. Please thank him for me tonight at the party.”

Kei recalls—with horrifying clarity probably akin to that moment of realization on the morning you have a hangover—him cramming the night before a particularly difficult test. Somebody had rung his doorbell once, twice, thrice, and Kei nearly ripped the door off its hinges to give the person a piece of his mind.

But it was Kuroo. Kuroo, holding a glass cookie jar filled with chocolate chip cookies, on Kei’s doorstep at fuck o’clock in the morning, and Kei’s words had died in his throat. Kuroo ran a hand through his hair like he was nervous, uncharacteristically so, although in hindsight, Kei probably looked like he was going to wring someone’s neck at that time.

So, here he is, with cookies from Kuroo Tetsurou, cookies that he knows taste like all the best things about chocolate and baked goods, and it gives him such a jittery feeling in his stomach that Kei doesn’t know what to do with.

 _Maybe it’s food poisoning_ , his mind supplies.

“I will.” Kei does his best in making an acceptable paper bag.

He leaves his apartment just an hour before the party, wrapped gift secure in his bag, Tikki nestled in the front pocket, and himself wrapped in a scarf and coat that’s going to be useless in the volleyball clubhouse.

It’s still quiet of course. Somebody’s already stashed the big whiteboards upstairs and shoved most of the chairs to the side. There’s a DJ booth and a makeshift bar and multiple punch bowls on a table that’s been dragged from the kitchen, but so far, no sign of Bokuto. Or Akaashi for that matter.

He finds a few of the volleyball team members huddled together in the kitchen.

“Tsukishima-san!” Haiba Lev is wearing socks on the shiny-looking floor. “Is Kuroo-san with you? Did you meet him on your way here?”

“No and no, and good evening, nice to meet you too,” Kei says.

Yaku elbows Haiba in the ribs. “Sorry about that, it’s just that Kuroo was supposed to be here earlier. He’s got the cake. The plan was for Akaashi to stall Bokuto for the surprise—“ Kei notices the party poppers on the counter and a banner with lots of… owls? Are those supposed to be owls? “—but part of the surprise happens to be the cake. Which is with Kuroo. Kuroo is not _here_.”

“Oh, I don’t think Keiji-chan is going to have a hard time doing that.” Oikawa Tooru says from where he’s seated on the kitchen counter. “I think he might even be enjoying it, if you know what I mean.”

“Says who?”

“Twitter, as of an hour ago. It was in all caps. It’s hard not to notice that, especially when it’s Kou-chan.”

Kei sighs. Slow drawn-out murder it is. And Kuroo being right. He takes out his phone. “I’ll try to see if I can call Kuroo—“

“This sounds like the set-up for a Mariah Carey song,” an amused voice says from the doorway. Kuroo is holding up a box, one Kei knows came from an actual bakery with a store-bought cake but one that Kuroo has taken to reusing for his own. “Also, traffic was murder, and my cake nearly got murdered a few hours ago. I had to redo the icing, can you believe?”

“Tragic,” Kei says out of reflex. Kuroo just smirks and walks over to the counter to safely deposit the cake, something in Kei’s brain short-circuits.

Kuroo’s jeans are… tight. The black T-shirt underneath an open red plaid shirt is—hell is Kuroo planning to breathe in the forseeable future? Or sit? Kei wrenches his eyes away before he starts looking at definitely more suggestive places, but he ends up looking up at Oikawa instead.

Oikawa has the gall to place a finger to his lips and wink at Kei.

Kei stifles another sigh. Or another scream. Kuroo, unaware about Kei’s concerns, bends over to get something from the cabinet below the sink.

Like he’s said, tragic.

 


	2. nobody does parties like high school (college) students do

It’s a mess.

Kei only remembers to pull his own party popper (courtesy of Yaku glaring at him into submission from one foot below) in the middle of the happy birthday song. Between everyone trying to squeeze into the doorway and Bokuto pulling Akaashi along while trying to squeeze into the doorway and Kuroo hollering out lyrics while batting away silly string from the cake, nobody particularly minds.

He’s breathless and grinning a bit by the time they all go inside. He finds that he doesn’t mind either.

“Tsukki! You came!” Bokuto still manages to give him a noogie despite having several inches on him. Kei tries to bear that as graciously as he can because of birthday privileges and whatnot. He preemptively gives Akaashi an apologetic smile to which the other boy responds with a quizzical one of his own.

What he does mind, though, is what comes after everyone relevant has eaten the cake. _There is no more cake_ , a tragedy befallen on anybody who has ever had the fortune of eating something Kuroo has made. Kei also makes sure to shove his gift into the depths of a growing pile stashed safely in the storage room before Bokuto can accost him.

“So you actually did it?” Kuroo’s voice is nothing short of gleeful. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“To be fair,” Kei says with as much dignity as he can. “I was hoping that you’d have to eat your words.”

“So you just had to do it? Man, I have to make Bokuto wear it to practice—“

“Don’t you dare,” Kei hisses at him. He has to step closer to Kuroo to be heard over the pounding bass, but the tone carries over well enough. “I will haunt you from beyond the grave. Or I will be sure to point to you when Akaashi asks me whose bright idea was it to print it out, and then I will dance on yours.”

“Says Mr. I-Can’t-Dance-For-Shit?”

“I will make it extra horrible out of spite.”

Kuroo laughs, bright and easy. Kei feels a puff of air from it against his cheek. “I have no doubt you would, Tsukki,” he says. It feels oddly sincere in response to someone threatening to desecrate his funeral. Kei has always appreciated Kuroo not taking his biting sarcasm too personally after all this time.

Three years since he’s met Kuroo. It’s strange. Three years ago, they were still almost eye-level with each other when jumping for a block on opposite sides of a volleyball net. Three years later, Kei is already used to looking down on most people whether from just his height or because he is exploiting his height to be a figurative little shit, and he’s already playing with Kuroo on the same team.

(After their first and last official volleyball match together in high school, Kuroo holds out his hand under the net for Kei to take. “Knew you’d give us a good game, Tsukishima,” he says, as if he had really expected nothing less.)

“Earth to Tsukki?”

Kei blinks. “Who else are we expecting?” he asks quickly. Kuroo does not need to know about that short jaunt into sentimentality. Who even gets sentimental during parties? There are people already yelling for shots along with the song in the living room.

Kuroo twirls the keys around his finger once before turning to lock the door. “Well, Oikawa did the inviting, so you can expect at least half the people on his contacts list.”

“God.”

“ _’Abandon all hope ye who enter here_.’” Kuroo snickers at the stricken look on his face. “You really need to get out every once in a while. I think I’ve only ever seen your hermit ass during practice or in the library.”

Kei refrains from answering that, giving a noncommittal hum as he curls his lips into something that doesn’t resemble a grimace. He’s been saving everyone’s asses in Tokyo while juggling practice and classes. More than once, he’s had to fight a battle in the middle of the night with a test the next day. And he’s in sports med. Of course the universe just hates him.

What would happen, he wonders, if he tells Kuroo right now?

Maybe Kuroo would just laugh at him. He has a funny feeling that Kuroo would believe him though. Somehow, that’s worse.

“This really isn’t my scene anyway,” Kei mutters.

“I’ll bite. What is your kind of scene?”

“Peace and quiet. Maybe the sweet release of death.”

“Fat chance you’re gonna get that here unless you’re planning to pass out on the front porch, Tsukki.”

“I hear the spare rooms upstairs are really good places, too.”

“Don’t remind me. Do you know how hard it was to get the smell out the last time we had a party here? I even made sure to lock those, but no. Being drunk somehow prevents you from telling left from right, but not from picking the lock, apparently.”

Kei can’t help it. He laughs, quietly enough to be drowned out by a Nicki Minaj song and whatever poor sods who are still sober enough to try and follow.

Kuroo nudges his shoulder. “Hey, if you don’t mind, why don’t we—“

Kei breathes out. “Yeah?”

“There’s this—“

But whatever Kuroo is about to say is drowned out by Haiba yelling, “Kuroo-san! There’s someone looking for you!”

“Well that’s—“ Kuroo frowns. “Lev, gimme a minute! Catch you later, Tsukki?”

Something in Kei deflates. He nods. “I’ll be fine, Kuroo-san. I’ll go look for the others.”

 

*

 

When Kei says ‘others’, the truth is that he has no clue who. Hinata and Kageyama have a test that they’re actually studying for, Yamaguchi isn’t feeling well, and Yachi would be still be terrified among all the six-foot volleyball payers with only Kei for company. He stays as far away as possible from the group doing Truth or Dare on the patio like it’s middle school—only more sexual and with more alcohol.

He ends up squished on one side of the sofa while the two people beside him are teetering closer and closer to making out. There are already a few groaning, drunk bodies on the floor that have been pushed off in the previous bids for sofa supremacy. One had tried to hit on him before passing out in the middle of it.

Ugh. It’s too warm, and he’s bored with most of the people he knows off with their own circles that Kei doesn’t really feel like intruding on. Maybe he should just leave early after all. Mindful of Tikki in his bag, he extricates himself and heads to the kitchen first for a glass of water.

What he also gets though, is Oikawa looking at his phone as if he’s about to make out with it.

“Um.”

He knows there is something wrong the moment his eyes land on the red solo cups scattered about. Actually, even without those, there’s something wrong about the idea of Oikawa Tooru not trying to be the center of attention of any party and instead hiding away in the kitchen.

Kei stays still in the doorway when Oikawa looks up. Maybe he won’t notice Kei if he stays still long enough. He could also roll over and play dead if it would help.

But alas, Oikawa giggles and beckons him closer—Kei doesn’t—to show off his phone screen. Which just shows Iwaizumi’s contact number and a small photo in the corner.

“Do you need to call Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa pouts. This is where Kei realizes his mistake. “I would, but Iwa-chan—“ He looks like he’s about to cry. “Iwa-chan doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Kei crossed off psychology in his possible list of majors for a reason, so good going to his seventeen year-old self. “I just really need a glass of water, Oikawa-san. If you’re having a lovers’ quarrel with Iwaizumi-san—“

“Nuh-uh!” Oikawa drapes himself over the sticky kitchen table. “I-it’s not a lovers’ quarrel—“

“That’s great,” Kei says as he edges towards the water dispenser.

“—because Iwa-chan isn’t my boyfriend!”

Kei raises his eyes skyward. There’s a weird-looking stain on the ceiling.

(Grand King doesn’t seem to have any other abilities aside from transforming and controlling people as his puppet knights, but he is turning out to be the biggest headache they have ever dealt with yet. Chat Noir has his hands full trying to keep them off Kei long enough for Kei to figure out how to use the polka-dotted volleyball he’s been given. Kei is sorely tempted to just spike it at Oikawa’s head and hope for the best.

He’s ambushed from behind, and he tumbles forward, the volleyball dropping from his hands and rolling into the chaos of the quadrangle. Kei twists in the puppet’s hold, struggling and kicking as it tries to rip off his earrings—

And then—

“OI, SHITTYKAWA!”

Kei breaks free just in time to see a volleyball—his volleyball—bouncing off Grand King’s helmeted head from Iwaizumi Hajime’s hand. Oikawa turns to regard him coldly, and the puppets fall still.

“Iwaizumi.” The lower half of Oikawa’s face isn’t covered, so Kei can see him sneer. “Finally come to join me?”

“You wish.” Iwaizumi walks steadily towards his friend. It occurs to Kei that maybe, he should be rescuing the civilian before he gets turned into another puppet, but Oikawa isn’t making any move to attack Iwaizumi just yet. Kei sees Chat Noir—already having leapt away from the puppets pinning him down—raise a hand as if telling Kei to back off.

 _Let’s see how this goes_ , he’s saying. Kei gets that message loud and clear. Chat Noir still holds his baton at the ready, and Kei is still ready to throw his yoyo at the slightest twitch that Oikawa makes though.

“I wish you’d actually just talk to me, Tooru. You don’t have to deal with everything on your own—“

“This isn’t something you can fix, Iwaizumi! Or understand—“

“How the fuck can I understand if you’re going to run off and get yourself like this?!” Iwaizumi is dangerously close to Oikawa now. Kei signs to Chat Noir. Should they—“And fuck, I’m sorry, Tooru, but I’m telling you, I think I get it.”

“What—“

And Iwaizumi yanks Oikawa, still in his Grand King form and more than capable of harming him, into a kiss in the middle of the university quadrangle. Kei stands there gobsmacked for several seconds before it crosses his mind that, yeah, maybe they should wrap this up right about now.)

Tikki help him. “Are you serious. _Are you actually being serious._ ”

Unfortunately, Oikawa nods before laying his head back down on the table.

Kei can feel his lifespan shortening. Or maybe that’s his IQ dropping. “Look, you know what, I’ll text Iwaizumi-san for you so you can get home,” he says while trying to pry Oikawa’s phone from his grip.

“Noooooo, no one gets to steal Hajime from me—“

“Why do I even have to deal with you?” Kei grumbles. He sends a short terse message to Iwaizumi and presses the phone back into Oikawa’s hand. “Do you know where Kuroo is? I’m not really expecting you to answer, but it would be more than helpful if you would.”

“Ooh.” Oikawa lifts his head up from the table. “Why is Tsukki-chan looking for Tetsu-chan, hm?”

Kei rolls his eyes. “So that you won’t drown in your own vomit before Iwaizumi-san gets here.” And because he needs to thank Kuroo for the cookies. For Tikki.

Kei doesn’t really like how Oikawa gets a glint in his eye that should be impossible given his inebriated state. “Ah, yes, Tsukki-chan. _Of course_ it’s for the great Oikawa-san.” Oikawa waves at him dismissively. Kei resists the urge to throttle him. “I think he’s out in the back?”

And as Kei turns on his heel, Oikawa adds, “Hurry, or someone might steal Tetsu-chan!”

 

*

 

Kuroo is kissing someone.

What Kei does not do, in fact, after Oikawa’s pronouncement is to hurry after Kuroo. He made a pit stop at the bathroom first, praying that it was at least clean and vomit-free.

(When he opened the door, however, he never did get to find out if it was clean and vomit-free because Akaashi was pinning Bokuto to the far wall of the bathroom, and Kei decided to count his blessings and celebrate the fact that at least, no one’s pants were down yet.

“Happy birthday,” Kei said before he slammed the door closed and speedwalked away.)

But now he’s in the backyard, surrounded by a mess that rivals the living room and more high or drunk people lounging on the chairs scattered on the grass. Kuroo’s disastrous bedhead of a hairstyle has always been a dead giveaway even in the half-light, and Kei just had to see him kissing someone else.

It’s not even pure exasperation he feels at walking into people in compromising situations for the third time in this party. It feels like something crawled up in his throat and died there.

 _What did I say, Tsukki-chan?_ something like Oikawa’s voice says in his head, and Kei has to shake it off. There are bad ideas, and then there is Oikawa. Kei closes his eyes for a moment before he opens them again.

Strangely enough, it works.

With a clearer head, he realizes that it’s just the angle making it seem like Kuroo is. In fact, he seems to be deep in conversation with someone Kei remembers from the school newspaper—a girl who from afar, sort of reminds him of a less severe Shimizu. He has half a mind to leave and look for Haiba or Yaku to look after Oikawa instead.

He doesn’t. He feels the urge to bury his head in this backyard though. What Kuroo does—or who Kuroo does or does not do—is frankly, none of Kei’s business. He is the very picture of nonchalance, of _I am cool and I do not give a shit_ when he walks up to them and clears his throat.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, just to be polite and all too aware that yes, he is interrupting.

Kuroo turns to him so fast that it almost looks guilty. Or that could be the annoying Oikawa-voice in his head. “Tsukki! I—How long were you there?”

 _Guilty_ , Oikawa-voice says in an annoying singsong. He wishes Oikawa would shut up.

“Just now. Like I said, I hope I wasn’t interrupting, unless you’d rather I go?”

“Oh no,” Kuroo’s companion says as she smooths down the front of her blouse. “Moto Minori. Journalism. You must be Tsukishima-san. I’ve had to cover some of the volleyball team’s games for the school paper before, but oh, I just wanted to thank Kuroo-san personally since I heard he was going to be at this party.”

“What for?”

Moto grins up at Kuroo. “Kuroo-san saved my life earlier. Did you know Ladybug and Chat Noir were in Tokyo again this afternoon?”

“It’s hard not to miss,” Kei says dryly. He’d been avoiding getting flattened on the pavement after all during the said battle. He frowns. Does that mean Kuroo had been—

“I mean, I heard that even if you ever get injured during those, Ladybug will heal you, but still, getting impaled on shrapnel doesn’t sound like a very nice experience. It ruined his cake though.”

“The damage to the cake wasn’t really a big deal, Moto-san,” Kuroo says, running a hand through his hair. 

Nervous. Kuroo is nervous about something.

“I’m glad I could help,” Kuroo adds.

“And I’m glad you did. Well,” Moto looks back and forth between him and Kuroo, as if assessing something. Kei bristles under her stare. “I still have to work on an article. It was nice meeting you, Kuroo-san. Tsukishima-san.”

When Moto is out of earshot, Kei mutters, “Really. Traffic was the best thing you could think of?”

Kuroo sighs, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “I didn’t say that the traffic ruined the cake, Tsukki.”

“Mentioning two usually unrelated things one after the other is as good as implying it.”

“Have you been hanging around Ushijima?”

“We’re on the same team, Kuroo-san,” Kei says an aggrieved tone. “And he asks the both of us to block for him on a regular basis.”

“Hm.” Kuroo is still looking off in the direction in which Moto had left. Like Kei says, it’s really none of his business what Kuroo does, but sue him, he’s more than a little bit curious about what seems to have shaken Kuroo’s composure like this.

“Are you alright, Kuroo-san? Moto said you were near that mall, right? Where Ladybug and Chat Noir were fighting someone again?” he asks. _And I definitely wasn’t at the scene of the crime—just being a concerned citizen and friend over here_.

Kuroo blinks. “I’m fine, Tsukki. Like she said, Ladybug heals people up even if something did happen. Just thinking about a few things.”

“Wow. Isn’t that a first.”

“It happens to the best of us.”

“Maybe you were thinking about what kind of thank you needs that deep and long of a conversation?”

To his horror, it takes Kei a second to realize he’s just given the perfect opening to a dick joke. To his relief, Kuroo doesn’t. Instead _it_ makes Kuroo snap out of whatever funk he was in, and he looks at Kei and snorts. “Careful, Tsukki. You almost sound like you might be in love with me.”

“In your dreams,” Kei says, the response rolling off his tongue right away. Because never in a million years would he—

He means, why would he even—

Oh.

“Just saying. Catching feelings might ruin that reputation you have going on there.”

Oh no.

Whatever Kuroo sees in Kei’s face—and there’s nothing to see, he tries convincing himself—it’s enough for him to deliver a light punch to his shoulder. “Kidding, kidding.”

“Somebody needs to look after Oikawa before Iwaizumi gets here,” Kei says, his voice faint in his own ears.

“Gotcha.”

“And Kuroo-san—“ How Kei manages to look at him in the eye, he doesn’t know. He deserves a medal for this. For lots of things surely, like saving the world and dealing with ill-timed _somethings_ in college parties where sentimentality should just be alcohol-induced. “Thank you. For the cookies last week. They’re great.”

Kuroo stops, seeming more than a little surprised at Kei, and Kei might be a little offended at that. But Kuroo smiles, one that reaches his eyes and is softened by the shadows cast from the light inside the clubhouse. “It’s no problem at all, Tsukki.”

Kuroo goes back into the clubhouse. Kei, despite his need to get back to some semblance of peace and quiet, sits on a vacant seat between someone at least halfway to high and another who’s already passed out and looks at the grass. And then at the night sky. A tinny-sounding Ke$ha song plays from the living room.

There’s barely any stars in Tokyo. It’s one thing he misses about being back home in Miyagi. But if Kei were back home in Miyagi and there was some higher power right now laughing at him, the stars would probably spell out, _Tsukishima Kei, you are so fucked_.

And Kei may have a long list of things he’ll deny to his dying breath, but this is one thing he can’t find it in himself to disagree.

 


	3. SIDE B: not a training montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THIS FIRST!!
> 
> Okay, so this chapter was supposed to be published nearer to the middle of the story as bonus/filler, but since chapter 2 fell short of the 10k word count for HQBB, I decided to write this ahead. I'll reorder the chapters in the future.
> 
> So, have an early spoiler about Kuroo and OC, I guess?
> 
> EDIT: wow i accidentally deleted this a while ago wtf self

The thing about a secret identity is that it’s  _supposed to be secret_. Tetsurou has never really gotten into the plots of western comic books—he watches the movies instead—but he supposes the reasons are all the same: separate saving the world from personal life, keep loved ones safe from the villains going  _mwahaha_ , etcetera.

Tetsurou also has his reasons, which include the ones mentioned above, but also the fact that he doesn’t see a good reason to tell someone anyway. It might be a moot point considering this:

In retrospect, Tetsurou should have known that he fucked up the moment he pushed Moto Minori onto the pavement before she got impaled on a flying piece of shrapnel and then left to transform in the nearest possible place. Not the part where he saves Moto’s life, but the part where he may well have announced to her in neon signage that he’s Chat Noir.

To top it all off, he even left the cake with her. Having to go back to get it after the battle? Double the neon signage.

Honestly, he feels nothing but a kind of serene panic, the emotional translation of finding out that there is a test he hasn’t studied for, or free falling from a height where the landing looks painful, or yolo. It’s even a wonder that the disguise has even lasted as long as it has. A domino mask and cat ears shouldn’t inspire some kind of selective object permanence in most people, but Tetsurou figures it’s just magic.

“Kuroo-san, I’m sorry, but I think I ruined your cake,” Moto says as she hands him the dented box before taking out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. Tetsurou has a sudden horrible moment where he imagines her tweeting his secret to the whole wide world. On the plus side, he can prove to Oikawa that it’s his ass that looks better in leather pants. “Can I do anything? Ah, there’s some really good bakeries near here—“

And then Moto flips her phone so that he can see the screen. It’s not Twitter. It’s Google Maps.

He needs a few seconds to remember that breathing is involuntary. “That’s nice of you, but unless you can…” The damage to the cake isn’t as bad as she made it out to be. “…help me redo the icing—“

“I have horrible handwriting,” Moto says.

“And mine looks like an ECG gone wrong.” That gets a laugh out of her. It’s one of Tsukishima’s more poetic descriptions for various things. “I’ll take care of it, Moto-san, don’t worry.”

“If you’re sure.” Moto claps her hands together in the very picture of innocence. Tetsurou doesn’t relax just yet. He has a gut feeling that she at least suspects him, and that sounds like the better outcome than her knowing right away, if not more horribly drawn out.

“Is it for Bokuto’s birthday? I remember Oikawa saying about it just a few days ago,” she adds before she leaves, dusting off her jeans.

“You have the same major with Oikawa?”

“Not really. Oikawa texted some of my friends a few days ago saying that there’s going to be a party at the volleyball clubhouse and that we should drop by if we have the time.” She smiles like an impending trainwreck. “I’m in journalism, Kuroo-san.”

Oh.  _Kuroo Tetsurou_ , he thinks,  _you have fucked up so bad_.

 

*

 

Kuroo Tetsurou realizes that he’s supposed to be a superhero in between him turning on the TV to some kind of stone monster ravaging Tokyo and a black bug-cat creature telling him so.

First off, he has questions. He doesn’t get to voice them out before he gets to the saving the world—or at least Tokyo—part, but they’re more than relevant to the situation at hand. Like whose idea was it was it to pick a college student among a million people in the city? Tetsurou likes to think that he’s as chill as they come, but that someone should have picked a demographic that’s more known for their emotional stability.

And really? A leather catsuit and wedge heels?

“Does this have anything to do with me picking up that old man’s cane earlier?” Tetsurou asks. “Was that my Secret Test of Character? A radioactive spider would have been a better advance warning.”

Plagg, his kwami, neither denies not confirms this. He quickly learns that there is very little that Plagg denies or confirms outright without resorting to bribery.

(“So I put on the ring.”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s it? That’s literally it?”

“Well, first, I have to get inside the ring, and then you should probably know about Cataclysm, but you’ll figure that one out. And you should probably look for Ladybug before you start taking on anyone or else we’re both going to be useless like moldy cheese.”

“…”

“But otherwise? Nope, you should be good.”)

He learns that he has a collapsible baton that’s infinitely extendable as well. It looks like a neverending treasure trove of dick jokes.

He also learns that screaming is utterly unnecessary when free falling from great heights. First because you don’t want to go out of the world with a legacy of screaming at a newfound pitch, and second because Tetsurou finds out that he can actually stick a landing that should have shattered his knees otherwise. The rock monster is more than enthusiastic about testing that out once, twice, thrice, and on the fourth time, something snags on his foot, dangling him upside-down from a lamppost.

“While your concern is touching, I really want to get down now,” Tetsurou says through the blood rushing to his head, to whoever might be listening.

“Give me a minute, I’m new at this,” someone mutters. Tetsurou cranes his head, and he finds himself staring, upside-down, at one of the most beautiful human beings he’s ever met in his life.

(This is how he says hello to him five times so far.)

Ladybug also happens to be one of the prickliest people Tetsurou has ever met. But he is so, so clever, and so very determined. Tetsurou watches as a swarm of ladybugs bring back the city into shape for the first time, the wonder clear on Ladybug’s face, and he might just be the tiniest bit in love with him.

 

*

 

“So hypothetically, Plagg, if someone does find out I’m Chat Noir,” Tetsurou says as he places the salvaged cake in a new box. “What happens?”

Plagg chews thoughtfully on a piece of camembert. Whatever sense of smell Tetsurou once had for it has already withered a long time ago. Socially, he survives with cologne. Financially, he’s still trying to convince Plagg to eat cheese sandwich spreads.

“Nothing,” his kwami says after a while.

“That was a long time to answer for just ‘nothing’.”

“Bah! I mean nothing bad happens to you or your powers. I can’t say anything for the people around you. Although come to think of it, how would I know for sure?” Plagg snickers. “Other Chat Noirs have never been this careless.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’d believe you, but we both know that you like messing with me.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And,” Tetsurou continues, “If there were hundreds of Chat Noirs already, then I can’t be the only one who’s slipped up. Domino masks. _Cat ears_.”

“It comes with the magic.”

“I knew it. More camembert?”

“Yes, please.” Plagg catches the cube that Tetsurou tosses to him. “You’re awfully confident about all this, Kuroo-san.”

Tetsurou thinks of panic so serene that it may as well be. “It’s comes with the job,” he says cheerfully, shrugging on a red plaid shirt. And he’s never going to know what Moto knows if he sits around in his apartment.

His Miraculous, a silver ring, is usually worn on a chain around his neck for most of the time. It’s as different as can be from the Chat Noir collectibles he sees in shops—for one thing, without Plagg in it, it doesn’t have the characteristic pawprint. It’s not like Moto will associate it with his superhero persona right away.

He still slips it into his jeans this time around though. Give how tight they are, he doubts it’s going to fall out anytime soon.

 

*

 

There are a few things that he wants to say to Tsukishima, given the appropriate time.

Really, as much as his three-year friendship with him starts with blocking tips and practices, it also starts as an exercise in finding the right words to say at the right time without having to mince the meaning of them. Tsukishima remind him a porcupine, or maybe a crab that way. It’s not something straining on Tetsurou’s part, and despite Tsukishima’s self-deprecation, his company is nothing short of wonderful when it comes down to it. They strike a comfortable balance between fond snark and biting sarcasm in their messages by the time Tetsurou attends university.

(However, given the fact that they’ve barely met in person for two years except for training camps where Tetsurou drops by, he finds it a novel experience talking to Tsukishima without a phone screen. He has a habit, one he’s trying to get rid of, where he doesn’t quite manage to say everything to Tsukishima when it gets too unwieldy for a LINE message, and then he thinks to himself,  _maybe I’ll tell him later.)_

But if it is the right time to say something, then firstly, Tetsurou wants to ask him _, are you going to stop growing like a weed anytime soon? No, it’s not a problem; it’s hilarious when the assholes on the soccer team have to look up at you when you’re verbally tearing into them._

Second—and Tetsurou really wants to tell him this for his sake—under the harsh lights of the party, Tsukishima looks tired. Tetsurou wouldn’t comment on this; college students are perpetually tired anyway. But to him, it looks like the kind of tired that’s weighted, as if Tsukishima is bearing something heavy on his shoulders.

 _Are you alright?_  he means to ask, but it’s forgotten when Tsukishima laughs under the chorus of Super Bass. Tetsurou has no idea whether he’s laughing because of Tetsurou having to clean out suspicious body fluids from the spare rooms once upon a time, or because of the people in the living room who still sound sober but are utterly failing in following the verse.  _That’s exactly how college students are supposed to laugh, Tsukki. I suppose you’ve graduated from being an old man_ , he postpones the jab for another time.

“Hey, if you don’t mind, why don’t we—“

“Yeah?”

 _There’s a movie coming out this weekend,_  he’s about to say.  _You’ll love ripping it apart for the dinosaurs. Wanna come with us? You could use the break._

But Lev interrupts him, and Tetsurou figures that like a lot of other things, he’s going to have to wait until later to say them.

 

*

 

Moto Minori, he finds, is as sharp as a whip.

On another day, Tetsurou would appreciate this quality in anyone but not when she somehow manages to keep the conversation to the event that afternoon for a long while. By now he’s more than sure that she’s just waiting for a slip-up, a glaring contradiction, or a fact that he shouldn’t know in order to confirm it.

Ha, joke’s on her. Tetsurou has played this kind of game already, keeping his secret identity after all this months. Sometimes you just have to run out of the lecture hall in the middle of class because Godzilla is temporarily real and in downtown and then make sure that the BS you give the professor is at least believable and non-incriminating.

It’s no less exhausting however. Tsukishima shows up just as he’s contemplating about leaving the conversation for a drink. Somebody’s probably spiked the punch twice over at this point.

“Maybe you were thinking about what kind of thank you needs that deep of a conversation?” Tsukishima asks after he prompts Moto to leave. He could’ve kissed Tsukishima for that.

 _Oh you don’t know the half of it_. “Careful, Tsukki. You almost sound like you might be in love with me.”

“In your dreams,” he snaps.

The phrase reminds him of something, but at the moment, he just about refrains from bursting into laughter at the constipated expression on Tsukishima’s face. “Just saying. Catching feelings might ruin that reputation you have going on there.” He punches Kei’s shoulder lightly. “Kidding, kidding.”

Tsukishima looks vaguely nauseous. He doesn’t look like he’s had anything to drink though, and it’s gone from his face in a second. “Somebody needs to look after Oikawa before Iwaizumi gets here.”

 “Gotcha,” Tetsurou says.

“And Kuroo-san—“ Tsukishima fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “Thank you. For the cookies last week. They’re great.”

He’s glad to know the chocolate chip cookies still went over well, even if Tsukishima looked one degree away from homicide at three o’clock in the morning.  _You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed_ , he’s about to say, but that’s just tempting fate. “It’s no problem at all, Tsukki.”

And with that, Tetsurou finds himself back at the party, sitting down at the kitchen table and wincing when he makes the mistake of leaning on the beer stained surface.

“I forgot to tell him about the movie,” he says to no one in particular.

“Hm, what was that Tetsu-chan?”

“Go back to sleep, Oikawa.”

 


End file.
